#anyways I hope you're feeling better now pookie

[ozzgin]

Greetings Ozz,

Yo girl here has been so damn sick this week that I had to go to emergency and I am miserable. So to distract myself from it, I thought so would come here and ask:

Dealers choice, how would your yanderes react to their darling having a medical emergency?

Or like how they would be in the building. Idk I think it would be pretty funny to fit a giant demon lord into a small exam room where he has to be very carefully about not ripping any cords out of the wall with his wings or poking the ceiling tiles with his horns.

Lololol Mummy!Yan trying to give you some of his bandages but they just keep disintegrating as he tries to treat you.

Vampire!Yan is simultaneously sick to his stomach from smelling other blood in the building and being overwhelmed by the darling’s scent if they’re bleeding.

Frankenstein|Zombie!Yan steps out of the room after you have stabilized to go check out the morgue for some new kicks.

Werewolf!Yan has to stay outside bc it’s a full moon and there are no animals allowed inside without documentation 😭

Clumsy!Yan had to stay home for safety purposes lmao

Mafia!Yans know their way around the building like the back of their hand from being there so often. The staff jokingly made them punch cards, the 10th punch is a new liver or kidney. (They have plenty of those though)

Anyways, some Tom foolery for this poor gal please, Ozz! ~🍒

I feel like this delves into the absurdism of dating a monstrous creature while dealing with daily life banalities.

Why, of course the Eldritch beast is prepared to take you to the doctor once your frail human life is endangered. He has all the documentation ready. He's skipping the cab - the waiting times are too long - and teleporting the two of you to the nearest hospital. Brought your thermos with fresh coffee to keep you alert. Has a little bag with necessities in case you need to stay overnight. Might order you some food later because he doesn't trust the canteen; he's snuck a couple glances and those salad leaves must be from yesterday's batch. Occasionally dozes off and dreamily whispers ancient, cursed secrets.

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

[sanemistar]

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 it'll be okay, my love

𝜗𝜚 kento x fem!reader, hurt to comfort, reader gets called (dear, love, darling), dedicated to: @iid-smile (idk who’s ur fav jjk character so i guessed you might like nanami ! anyways, i hope you feel better soon pookie i love u <33) 𝜗𝜚 back: jjk m.list

kento comes back home from work and the first thing he sees is your crying face as you sob on the couch in the living room, holding onto one of your husband's sweaters. his first reaction is to immediately run over to you and wrap you in a tight hug.

you have been feeling down lately and you’ve been crying a lot, but you’ve been trying hiding your sadness away from him because you don't want to worry him. you know kento has a lot to worry about on his plate, so the last thing you want is to add up to his burden.

however, unknowingly to you, kento has heard your small cries all along, and it has pained him every time. but whenever he asks you if you're okay you'd always reply that you're fine and there's nothing for him to worry about with a little smile.

"life's too hard, ken. i keep saying that i have to be strong, but i just can't do it." you've tried your best, you really have. but at that moment you've finally reached your breaking point, and you can no longer bottle your feelings up.

your tears that have been kept inside for too long begin to heavily fall down your red cheeks like a rainfall as you rest your head on kento's broad, firm chest. your arms wrapped around his torso for dear life. he pats your head with one hand, as his other one rubs your back up and down in a soothing motion, you begin to calm down as the crying slowly stops. he breaks the hug and cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caress your hot cheeks as he wipes away the remaining tears.

"you've been holding on for too long now, have you, dear?" kento whispers softly against your ears. his tone is so gentle and comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold day. the look in his eyes is as soft as a feather.

“but i’m here for you, and always will be. you’re okay now, it'll be okay, my love.” kento reassures your as he tenderly kisses your temple, and you finally smile genuinely again for the first time in a while.

“i love you, so so much, kento.” you hum softly as you confess your love to your husband. he leans in, closing the gap between the two of you. his lips find home onto yours as they collide in a deep kiss that is so tender, so intimate and so affectionate.

“i love you too, my one and only, my darling.”

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @yueliie @spkyssn @ayrastv @sylusdoll

[notiddygothgf]

4. Taste Like Nicotine

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ Go back to Himeno. ❞ ❝ No. That's not what you want. ❞

★ c.w.: suggestive themes, drinking (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: HELLO AGAIN MY POOKIE DOOKIES!! IM BACK AGAIN. bc i have nothing better to do atm and i wanted to give yall a lil sum sum before i moved away to uni. please excuse the pacing of this chapter -- this fanfic was supposed to be a oneshot and uh... now its 160 pages in google docs LMFAOOA.. things get spicy in this chapterrr! so yeah anyway, you know the drill, keep me entertained -- keep your funny little comments coming, I absolutely love reading them. You guys motivate me to keep going! Love yall

★ w.c.;4.1k

shameless ; chapter index

THE OFFICE WAS QUIET, the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustling of papers the only sounds that broke the silence. You were alone, finishing up some last-minute paperwork after hours. The mission had gone surprisingly well—no casualties, a rare feat in your line of work. The team had even managed to kill a large Devil containing a piece of Gun Devil Flesh, a significant victory. Yet, instead of joining the others to celebrate, you had chosen to stay behind. Partly to avoid any awkward encounters with Himeno, but mostly because you felt restless, unable to shake off the events of the past few days.

As you finished up the last of your reports, you glanced at the new message on your phone.

HIMENO| you didn't come tonight.

Typing...

YOU

| I didn't think you'd wanna see me after the stunt I pulled.

HIMENO| I dont, but I wanted u to know that everyone is talking abt u

YOU

| ??

| wym

HIMENO

| your shadow didn't come tonight, either.

Typing...

YOU| look, himeno, ive actually been wanting to talk to you about that

| would you be able to meet up and talk it out?

HIMENO| id rather not honestly.

| ur a grown woman and i cant stop u from doing what u want

| but just know that people in pb. safety talk

| dont mess up a relationship with a perfectly good man for aki

| u should leave him for someone who can actually give him what he needs

YOU| I understand that I've hurt you, Himeno, and I'm sorry

| I have no intentions of being with Aki.

HIMENO| good

| dont get him mixed up in ur fucked up marriage

|  he doesnt deserve that.

You sighed, pocketing your phone. There were certain battles you simply couldn't win. This would undoubtedly be one of them.

It was late, and you knew you should head home. You gathered your things and made your way down the dimly lit hallways, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness.

As you passed the breakroom, you heard voices. One familiar voice, more specifically.

You slowed your pace, not wanting to intrude but curious enough to catch a snippet of the conversation. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see two figures inside.

"You look desperate, dude," the unknown person said, barely audible. "It's not attractive."

"I'm becoming ridiculous," Captain Hayakawa said, his voice low and strained. "I'm losing hope."

"Hope of what? Convincing a married woman to break her vows?" the other person retorted, a hint of incredulity in his tone.

Are they talking about me? You asked. You knew the answer. You simply did not want to confront it.

Hayakawa sighed. "I thought she would call me by now," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice making your stomach churn uncomfortably. "I just... there was something there."

There was a pause, then the other person sighed, his voice softening. "God, you are ridiculous." After a moment, he added, almost reluctantly, "Shit, sorry, man. I know you like her."

"No, you're right," He replied, a note of resignation following his words. "She doesn't want to speak to me. I'm driving myself crazy waiting for someone who's never gonna call."

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach, guilt and confusion swirling together. You hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but now you couldn't just walk away without feeling a pang of something—regret, perhaps? The slip of paper with his number, still in your possession, weighed heavily in your mind. You had been avoiding the situation, avoiding him, and now it was clear how much it had affected him.

Aki's words echoed in your ears as you stood frozen in the hallway.

He was right; you hadn't called him. You hadn't even acknowledged the note, too caught up in your own turmoil and guilt to consider his feelings. Now, hearing him speak so openly, you felt a rush of emotions—sympathy, guilt, confusion. There had been a moment between you, an undeniable spark, but you had chosen to ignore it, to pretend it didn't exist.

When would it all come crashing down – your efforts? This whole situation?

The conversation in the breakroom continued, but you couldn't listen any longer. You turned away, your heart pounding. As you made your way to the exit, you couldn't help but replay Aki's words in your mind.

He had been waiting for you, hoping you would reach out, and now he was losing hope. Fuck.

He had been waiting for me.

The idea thrilled you, for some strange reason. Maybe because you hadn't felt desired like this in years – it made your head spin. But another part of you was terrified—of what it might mean, of the complications it would bring, of the impact on your marriage.

You couldn't help yourself. You did what you always did. You ran away from him.

You knew you couldn't avoid him forever, but for now, you needed time to think. .

7:45 PM

Typing... 

Hey. |

Typing...

Hello, |

Typing...

How are you? |

Typing...

Hey. They're taking me out for drinks tn as a sendoff party. I think you should be there.

SENT.

YOU | Hey. They're taking me out for drinks tn as a sendoff party.

I think you should be there.

| At the Sip-n-savor in downtown Tokyo

Seen 8:00 PM .

The night went on without a flaw. The atmosphere was infectious, and you had been trying to let loose, drink in hand, as you chatted and danced with the others. But as the night wore on, a sense of unease settled in. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the memories of the overheard conversation in the breakroom, or maybe it was the subtle disappointment that someone hadn't shown up.

Excusing yourself, you made your way to the bathroom. The mirror reflected your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged makeup. You sighed, turning on the faucet and splashing some water on your face. As you washed your hands, you found yourself thinking about Aki.

Despite everything, a depraved part of you had hoped to see him tonight. You had been both relieved and disappointed when he hadn't shown up—relieved because it meant avoiding an awkward conversation, disappointed because you had been... well, actually looking forward to seeing him.

As you touched up your makeup, you couldn't help but reflect on your own conflicted feelings. You were married, committed, and yet, Aki had stirred something in you that you simply couldn't stand to ignore. It was confusing, disorienting. You weren't sure what you felt more strongly: guilt for being drawn to him or frustration that you couldn't just let it go.

"Ugh," You groaned, pressing your forehead against the sink. "'M g'nna be sick."

Feeling a bit lightheaded from the drinks, you decided to step outside for some fresh air. You left the bathroom and – completely drunk – maneuvered through the crowds to the nearest door.

The cool night breeze was a welcome relief against your warm skin, and you leaned against the balcony railing, taking deep breaths. The city lights twinkled below, and you watched them in a daze, trying to steady your thoughts.

That's when you saw him.

Aki was just entering the party, his sharp suit and dark hair making him stand out immediately. You felt your heart skip a beat. Then another. He was killing you.

He came, you thought, a strange mix of emotions flooding you. Relief, excitement, and that persistent undercurrent of guilt all tangled together.

He spotted you almost immediately and made his way over. As he approached, you couldn't help but think how painfully gorgeous he looked, the dim lighting casting a soft glow on his features. In that moment, he seemed almost like a knight in shining armor, a figure out of place in the lively, chaotic setting of the bar.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice smooth and warm, a balm to your nerves.

"Hey," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, a slight concern in his tone. "You're not cold?"

He always seemed to be worried about you and the weather. Still, the chill felt nice against your hot skin, oddly enough.

I missed you, you didn't say. You didn't even think about it. You knew that in a day you would be back on the train and all of this would just be a bad dream, anyway.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "No, I just needed some air. It's a bit stuffy in there."

Aki didn't respond immediately, and when you turned your head up to look at him, his expression was unreadable. The noise from inside the bar seemed distant, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in that moment. You felt a tug in your chest, a pull towards him that you couldn't explain, couldn't deny.

"Did you pregame the bar, or something?" You laughed quietly. It felt nice, being able to pretend nothing had ever happened between the two of you and just... enjoy each other's company. "You smell like beer."

"I was having a few drinks with my roommate before you texted me," He answered. Then, looking out onto the street, he added, "He told me I shouldn't come tonight. Said you're driving me crazy."

"So, why are you here, then?" You asked.

He looked at you. "I think you know why I'm here."

There was a brief silence, comfortable yet charged with the unspoken. You glanced at him, noticing the way his eyes lingered on you, soft but searching. It was the same look he had given you in the seminar, the museum, everywhere else, and it stirred something deep inside you.

You hated the way he made you feel.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He asked you. His voice was as deep and rich as ever, and you had about half a mind to take him up on the offer.

You shivered. You knew it wasn't from the cold air. It was him – the smell of him, his cologne, the distinct scent of nicotine that let you know he had just finished smoking a cigarette. It was an aroma so unique to him that you had grown to like it.

You were looking at his lips before you knew it, giving way to a craving you couldn't explain, "I'll try a cigarette, if you have any."

He smiled softly, reaching into his pocket and flipping open a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. He placed a cancer stick between your lips, and you felt a part of you die a little. He struck the wheel of the lighter, bringing the cigarette to life.

You coughed so hard that you nearly hacked up a lung. It had been years since your last cigarette.

Hayakawa stepped behind you, cupping a hand around your elbow, sliding it up your arm, your wrist, your fingers before he plucked the cigarette from your digits.

"First time?" He asked, warm voice hot against your neck.

"Wanted to give it a try," You shrugged. You didn't know what, exactly, had gotten into you. It seemed that with every sip of liquor you took lately, you crept closer and closer back to your old self. The sort of liquid courage that made people make very bad decisions. "Sorry. I'm a little," You waved your hands around yourself, trying to gesture 'drunk' without actually saying it.

"How brave of you," He murmured, pulling a hit from your cigarette and exhaling. He was the picture of sin – face flushed with alcohol, messy bangs, pink lips wrapped around a cancer stick. He was so pretty it hurt.

"I'll try it again when I'm sober," You offered.

"When?" He asked, breathing smoke out into the air. "Where?"

As persistent as always, you thought. Still, you didn't necessarily mind the attention anymore. You told yourself that it didn't matter – you would be out of here soon anyway, and everything would be far behind you before you knew it.

"Why is it that every time I'm inebriated... God tests me by throwing you in my way?" You laughed, Truly, you wished you had considered the implications of your words a little more before you had said them. "Just as I thought your manners had improved since the party. You behaved badly, then. You know that? Very badly," you hiccuped. "You should be ashamed of yourself, throwing– hic–throwing yourself at a married woman like that."

He didn't acknowledge your drunken ramblings, and he also didn't deny the fact that he had been doing exactly that – throwing himself at a married woman.

"Hardly my fault," He breathed out. "I just can't seem to resist you."

"Don't worry," You replied, eyeing him up dubiously as he pulled another hit from what was left of your cigarette. "I'm leaving tomorrow. Won't have to worry about resisting me after that."

"I know," He answered back. "Selfishly enough, I spent the last few hours wishing your train got delayed one more day, or something like that," He exhaled, then snuffed his cigarette out on the balcony, "Still, I'm glad I could see you before you went home."

"I wish I could say the same about you," You replied before you could stop the words from coming out.

He poked his tongue through the inside of his cheek, retorting, "You're gonna sit here and act like you didn't invite me? Like your eyes didn't light up like a child when you saw me pull up?" He turned around, commanding even more of your attention, standing at least a foot and a half taller than you. "You wanted me to come tonight."

It was true. That's the worst part. Everything he said was the truth.

"So that I could say goodbye," You said with remarkable finality, "I'm leaving after this."

You hadn't originally planned on leaving so soon, of course, but you wanted to get the hell out of here before you made another bad decision.

"Already?" He asked.

"You're the one who ran late," You replied. "This ends tonight. I'm going to say bye to everyone else, then I'll be gone."

With that being said, you made your way back to the door. You would go inside, bid everyone farewell, collect your belongings, and then–

He called your name before you could go back inside. You froze in place.

"Am I misreading the signals?" He asked.

You sighed, turning around one last time to clear the air, "This has to stop, Aki. You make me feel like... like I'm guilty of something."

He implored you, "What do you want me to do?"

"Go back to Himeno," You answered, a biting undertone seeping through your words. You were undeniably bitter about the whole situation, and under any other circumstances, you would have tried to be a good sport, but...

Himeno's words were a heavy weight on your heart.

'Don't mess up a relationship with a perfectly good man for Aki.'

'You should leave him for someone who can actually give him what he needs."

You could never be what Aki wanted. He wanted all of you – not just a week of you, clearly. You were married, and you couldn't let all of that go over a guy you'd been toeing the line with for what seemed like ages.

He was a young man. The fact of the matter was that you were a grown woman. A married one.

"She's a sweet, kind woman," You continued. You felt like you were going to be sick just being near him. Unknowingly, tears began to prickle at the corners of your eyes. "Go back and beg her to forgive you. Go be with someone who wants to be with you. Who can be with you."

"No," He answered simply. There was an intensity in his eyes that frightened you, like he would die without you, as he continued, "That's not what you want. I think we both know that. I refused a mission in Hiroshima to stay here with you. I planned to let go of another one in Beijing," He swallowed, "I can change my mind, and you'll never see me again."

"If you have any consideration for me," Your voice was a shuddering whisper, like someone could walk out any minute and hear the two of you going back and forth. "Any semblance– a shrivel of compassion, you'll give me back my peace."

He shook his head, "I can't. You know I can't. You've consumed every inch of my peace, every inch of my mind. How can I give you your peace?"

Fair point.

You had nothing to say to him. So, silently, your vision blurred with tears, you glared at him. Glared and frowned like that would make you believe he was the sole contributor to this issue. Then, again, you turned on your heel and went for the door. You entered the bar quickly.

He followed not too long after you, "I'll go to Beijing, then."

"No." You said. Your teary-eyed fury caught the eyes of more than a few confused bar patrons. "I don't want you to go."

Everyone was looking at you. Seriously, everyone. Your old coworkers, the bartenders, everybody.

You swallowed down your pride, bowing down before them all. "Good night, everyone," You said. You plucked your purse and your jacket off of the barstool. "Thank you for everything. I'm leaving."

Ignoring the confused looks and hushed whispers from the patrons, you exited the bar, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. The rain had started to fall, a soft drizzle quickly turning into a steady downpour. You barely noticed, too wrapped up in the turmoil inside your head. The cold, wet sensation of the rain soaked through your clothes, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You just needed to get away, to clear your mind.

But of course, Aki followed after you. You could hear him calling your name, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. You quickened your pace, almost running, your heels splashing through puddles as you made your way down the block. His footsteps pounded behind you, matching your speed. You couldn't escape him, couldn't outrun him.

Finally, he caught up to you, grabbing your arm to stop you. "Wait, can we please talk?" he pleaded, his voice breathless and desperate.

You turned to face him, rain pouring down around you both. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his suit jacket soaked through. The intensity in his eyes matched the storm, a fierce determination that made your heart ache. You met his gaze begrudgingly, not wanting to deal with this, not wanting to deal with him.

"Have I really been imagining all of this?" He asked. He sounded broken. "Is it really all in my head? Tell me if it's a lie. Tell me to leave you alone. Tell me you mean it—all of it," he paused, taking a shuddering breath. "Or tell me the truth."

You swallowed hard, the weight of the situation crashing down on you. "I don't know how to feel, Aki," you finally admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm trying to be good, but you just keep fucking—popping up everywhere. And you say these pretty things to me, and," You choked back a sob, struggling to find the right words. "I can't help myself around you."

"Running from your problems won't make me go away," he said, stepping forward to put his hands gently on your waist.

There was a long pause as you stood there in the rain, staring at each other. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you. The storm, the bar, everything else was just a blur. You were tired—tired of running, tired of the confusion, tired of pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't.

He added, "You can't run from your feelings."

This time, it was his eyes that dropped to your lips. His tongue darted out to dampen his own, and then his eyes flicked up to your face. When he spoke, his voice was huskier than before, as if it had been tainted by an emotion that hadn't been there before. Was it lust? Passion? Whatever it was, you wanted more of it.

Your eyes widened. Your mouth had run dry. You didn't know what to say. Even being like this right now -- as close as you were, -- was against your wedding vows. This was wrong, and you couldn't do that to your own husband.

Your own husband who loved you so dearly.

Your own husband who left you hanging so many nights on end.

Your own husband, who acted as if he couldn't care if you lived or died.

As if he had sensed your train of thought wandering, Aki placed two fingers beneath your chin, lifting your face up until he was the captor of all of your attention. Him and him alone. Not your husband, but him.

"I could treat you like a princess," His eyes wandered down to your lips again, but this time there was an unspoken hunger within them. "All you have to do is ask, and I'm yours. I already am."

And, God, what a fool you had been in uttering the words, "Don't toy with my emotions. You don't want me."

He paused, awaiting something, anything. His eyes pleaded with your own, luring you in with promises of pleasure and happiness. Gently, he grabbed your hand, placing it over his breast, right above his heart.

"I want you so badly it hurts," He breathed, "For a night, for a day, for a week..." Aki closed the gap between the two of you – brought your faces closer together. Closer, until you could feel the warmth of his calm breath fanning out against your cheek. Closer, until he uttered, "As long as you'll let me have you."

"Aki, I can't-...." You paused. Yet, still, you never moved. Your body betrayed your words, dilated pupils and trembling hands giving way to your internal dilemma. "This is wrong. You know I can't do this."

You were being a hypocrite. You knew you were. One spare glance down at the placement of your hands on his chest -- one over his breast and one looped around his tie -- and you knew he could tell you were only putting up a front.

"I know," he murmured softly, words practically dying beneath the volume of the rain, "But I can't stop thinking about you."

You folded. Your eyes dropped down to his lips one last time, and that's when you knew he had already won.

Fuck it.

"Fuck you," you muttered, feeling a surge of reckless abandon.

Without thinking, you reached out and pulled him towards you, crashing your lips against his in a desperate, frenzied kiss. It was messy and wet, your tears mixing with the rain, your hands tangling in his hair as his arms finally wrapped around you.

The kiss was filled with all the pent-up emotions, the longing, the frustration, the desire. It was passion, it was anger – it was tongue and teeth and lips smearing your lipstick over the lower half of your face. It was two black holes finally colliding after circling around each other far too long.

"I can't make sense of it. I want... you," you sighed, pulling away, voice trembling, "I don't know what any of this means anymore. I don't know what to think."

"Then don't," he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. He tasted like cigarette smoke, beer and mint gum – a flavor so utterly addicting that you couldn't seem to get enough of it. "Don't think. Let me take you back to your room."

You hesitated, the reality of the situation hitting you. This was crossing a line, a line you couldn't uncross. But as you looked into his eyes, saw the same turmoil reflected back at you, you felt your resolve crumble.

You were tired of pretending.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain. It was a final, resigned acceptance, the last nail in the coffin of your restraint.

You were tired of running from the inevitable.

a/n: dont hate me. LMFAOAOAOOAOA. i had to! i absolutely loved writing this chapter and i loved writing tipsy obsessed aki. i headcannon that he's a touchy needy bf and no one can tell me otherwise. i think you all know what happens next. im not sayin nothin tho. hehe. ANYWAYYYYY LMK WHAT YALL THOUGHTTTTT i look forward to hearing it!!! lmk what yall wanna see in the next few chapters/over the course of the story. and if youve already watched anna karenina (or read, in which case... how...) shhhhhh youve seen nothing. muah! x

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505

wanna join the taglist? | shameless ; chapter index

[k2ntoss]

hi hi it's me again, back from the void

so like i've been so absolutely sick these past few days, it's horrid, but I've not been able to stop thinking about Jason bc y'know, total brain rot over here

anyway, i just need a jason in my life to give me cuddles and read to me while I'm sick and make me soup and gimme kisses and ugh i wish he was real so baddd 😭

- the very sickly lil 🦊

POOKIE????? first of all, how are you feeling now? i do understand your brain rot, i've been thinking a lot about jason while at work and i get too lost on it sometimes heh now let me get you something that can make you feel better 🫡 listen to this when you read, check on the trad bc the song is so sweet ): HOPE THIS HELPS TO CHEER YOU UP, 🦊

jason takes his vigilante shifts as serious as it's possible, after all that's his life and there's nothing more important than that or it was like that before you. there's no way he finds something else to get his mind busy when you're all he can think of and believe me when i say, he makes everything he can for you to always get the princess treatment you deserve and he couldn't help it, from the first time he laid his eyes on you he was totally in love and even when things weren't easy at first you both worked them through and that had gotten you here.

now jason can't see himself just going out on patrol when you're sick, that's the case now, it's a cold but a strong one and he's worried "grayson, i'm not joking- yeah, just one night i swear i'll owe you a big one" you can hear his voice as he speaks with dick, you had tried to convince him that you could rest on your bed and you would be fine but he wouldn't leave you when you weren't feeling good. his heavy steps let you know he's walking back into the room and jason smiles softly when you look at him from under the blankets "how are you feeling now, baby?" he asks as he sits next to you, his hand reaching to touch your forehead so he can check your temperature.

"i guess that there's no point on telling you i'm feeling good, right?" you asks with a soft chuckle, his touch is so gentle that it makes you feel fuzzy inside as he shakes his head before lying next to you "i'm not going on patrol, dick is going to cover me with bruce" jason tells you when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer so you nuzzle your head against his side "so i'll stay here to make sure you really take care of yourself"

he makes sure you're comfortable next to him and when you look up at him jason smiles brightly, is something so usual of him to you, even when there are bad and rough days or fights between you two there's also good moments like this and you both have made sure they are what matters the most because there's been enough shit that happened to you and him to cling into more of it. jason picks up the book he's currently reading, once again pride and prejudice because he knows you like it when he reads to you, jason would lean in to whisper some lines into your ear before he kisses your temple while his other hand plays with your hair.

"are we feeling better, princess?" he asks in a whisper, a chaste kiss to your cheek and one more in your lips because jason really doesn't mind if he gets sick too because that means you'll take care of him too "i feel better now... but i'm a little hungry" you say, voice gruffy and eyes a little sleepy thanks to your boyfriend's soothing presence and cuddles, he nods and sits straight on the bed with a thoughtful expression before letting out a hum "want some soup?" and as soon as you nod jason is walking to the kitchen because it's what has to be done if it gets his love to feel better and happy.

[koolades-world]

Hi i don't know if anyone else gave this idea but i'm saying it anyway. I like Satan x MC stories and i was thinking about...what if MC has anger issues and because of that they recived horrible comments?.

I like to think that MC doesn't have many friends because of that and because people don't understand them, It makes MC even more upset with others and themselves but everything changes when they meet Satan and see that they are not alone.

MC would spend a lot of time with him so they can both help each other and grow together, of course at first the brothers didn't care because they didn't understand them very well either but over time they began to feel jealous.

I think this Is a great idea for an MC and Satan angst/fluff story but feel free to write It or not, Hope you like this ♥️

hi!

you're so right, this has great hurt/comfort potential! i love anything satan and i love the dynamic these two would have!! the day i stop loving satan is the day i die. i'll be in the nursing home and still talking about my little pookie LOL

enjoy <3

understanding

If you would've told your past self where you were now, you would have laughed. You would've never guessed that it would taking going to hell and back, literally, to find someone you could be yourself around.

The day you arrived in the Devildom, it had just been another day. You were getting ready to wind down for the evening when you were swept away and planted in front of who you later got to know as Diavolo. Since you were half asleep, you thought what you were experiencing was a dream, so you went along with everything with no questions. When you awoke the next morning, it was a different story. The only one who was able to get through to you was Satan, who you'd only met briefly the previous day. After that, it was all history.

Before you'd met Satan, forming relationships had been somewhat of an endeavor. You struggled to get close to those around you without scaring them away by accident. You wished they would just stick around to hear you out. Satan did just that because he understood where you were coming from. It was refreshing. The two of you became fast friends and helped each other grow. You exchanged tips and tricks, as well as always being there for the other. Your bond was only strengthened when the two of you formed a pact to the point where the two of you were essentially inseparable.

However, while you grew closer to Satan, you grew more distant from the other brothers. It wasn't unexpected since Satan was the only one who'd truly understood you, but that didn't mean it wasn't upsetting. Just because you knew the pain didn't mean that it didn't hurt. You weren't all that sure why though. You'd been getting much better with keeping yourself in check, and they were used to your tendencies since they'd know Satan since arriving in the Devildom. You thought things might have been different this time.

But, insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result.

After another long day at RAD, you arrived home and sat in the living room by the fire. You were doing the work you'd been assigned earlier that day. You heard someone enter the room, and take a seat on the sofa behind you. Paying them no mind, you kept working. The longer you sat there, the more you felt their eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. You tried your best to keep your focus on your work, since you lived there too and had just as much of a right as they did to sit in common space.

But, as things usually went, you struggled to ignore the eyes trained on you. So, the moment they dared to utter a word, you blew up. You hadn't had a fit of rage that intense since you came to the Devildom. Of course, it wasn't just the staring that got to you. It was all the pent up emotions you'd accrued over the course of months. At some point, you felt tears slip down your face as you shouted whoever happened to was sitting there. They decorated your face as a display of your unspoken feelings. To you, there was no point in wiping them away when more were just going to fall. Through the blur of tears, you couldn't tell and you didn't bother to try to figure out.

You threw down your work on the coffee table, and stormed out of the room. You let your feet take you to where ever they wanted to, which is how you found yourself outside of Satan's door. But, your arms wouldn't move, so you just let your head hit the door. You heard Satan within, moving to the door. He cracked it, and upon seeing the state you were in, ushered you in.

For a bit, the two of you just sat in silence. You sat side by side on his bed, his arm around your shoulders. He offered you a tissue, which you simply balled up in your hand.

"What's wrong?" He finally spoke.

"It's dumb." You responsded.

"Nothing is dumb. This is a safe space. You can tell me." He reassured you. You were quiet again for a little bit, trying to gather your thoughts and put them into words.

"I don't know why, but I hate your brothers. Not in a hatred way, but they infuriate me. I can't describe it." You spat out the words like they were bitter in your mouth. Satan pondered your words for a moment. You were a little afraid to look at him, but you were greeted with his beautiful green eyes searching you.

"You just want them to like you, don't you?" He said. You slowly nodded, thinking about his words. "I was in the same position once. I was afraid they were going to hate me for what I was, so I tried to change." He looked as if he wanted to say more, but stopped himself.

"What did you do?" You weren't sure why exactly you were asking. To get advice for your current situation or to hear the end of the story, you were unsure.

"I stopped pretending to be something I wasn't, and just became me. Yes, I did learn to control my wrath, but I was myself." Satan had a far off look in his eyes, likely reminicing.

"Is that why they hate me?" You gnawed at your lip at the prospect of them hating the mask you tried to present to the outside world.

"No. I don't think they actually dislike you. I know them. It may not be as well as they know each other, but it's enough to know they don't distain you." He refocused his gaze on you again.

"Then what is it?" You felt a slight rage simmering again. Just the thought of the brothers was sending you into a tizzy.

"I think they're jealous." He stated.

"Of what? My anger issues?" You scoffed at yourself.

"Of us." He presented this as if it was common knowledge, leaving you a little puzzled.

"What do you mean?" Time felt like it slowed down when you heard his words.

"I think they envy the bond that we have. They see the you that you are around me, and wish they could have the same. Since they were so cold to you at first, however, they're finding it hard to break the ice." Satan spoke slowly, each word deliberate. "No pun intended." You let out a little snort at that.

"Do you really think that?" You could feel the rage begin to dissipate as you let his words sink in.

"I do." The two of you sat without exchanging words again as you digested the information. A small grin formed on your face. "There's that smile." He beamed.

"Thank you. Sorry for not telling you sooner." You hung your head a little, almost ashamed of your actions.

"No need to apologize. But, next time, do come to me. Even if I don't have the answer, you shouldn't keep it all in like that." Satan lightly ruffled your hair affectionately.

"I'm glad to have met you."

"Me too."

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Can I please have scenarios for EJ, Toby, Julius, and bloody painter helping their nonbinary s/o through a panic attack and comforting them? Thank you and have a wonderful evening

𝔹𝕃𝕆𝕆𝔻𝕐 ℙ𝔸𝕀ℕ𝕋𝔼ℝ!!!! 𝕄𝕐 𝕊ℙ𝔼ℂ𝕀𝔸𝕃 𝔻𝕌𝔻𝔼!!!

ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕠 𝕥𝕠 @𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕤-𝕟-𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖!! 𝔾𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜!

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘!!

Eyeless Jack

Whenever Jack sees you in a state of panic, his brain immediately shifts to a more medical state

He isn't good with emotions, but facts he can work with

So he starts instructing you on what to do

He doesn't touch you, as he doesn't want to induce more panic

He instructs you to stand up and do jumping jacks, which you very much do not want to do

He insists you do it anyways, and while you are doing your jumping jacks he is off getting you a big cup of very cold water

When he comes back, he tells you to take at least 3 big gulps of the water

Once you've drank all the water you want, he tells you to lay on your back and breathe through your stomach (basically meaning your stomach rises instead of your chest)

You do this until you are calm, and while he waits, Jack records your heart's pace

Once you are calm, if you want anything like cuddles, you'll have to tell him

Because on his own, he saw this as purely medical and not a reason to be all lovey with each other

However, he is happy to oblige with your requests for a little bit before going back to whatever he was doing before

Sorry guys his ass does not understand emotional intimacy

Toby

When Toby sees you panicking, he starts to panic

What happened? How long have you been like this? How does he help?

He tries to not make that panic known though, because he knows that would likely stress you out and he doesn't want that

So he instead comes to where you are and sits in front of you, whispering to you how it's gonna be ok, and how he's gonna make it better

He cradles you in his arms and rocks you back and forth, rubbing your back and telling you to just breathe, don't even think about anything just breathe

And he will sit there just like that, for minutes, hours, days, however long you need to feel ok

He will wipe away your tears and kiss where they were

He will give you breathing exercises and try them with you

He will brush your hair (if you have any, if you don't he will give you some soothing hand lotion and tell you to just breathe in the calming scent)

He will literally do anything for you, and once you are calmed he will kiss you all over and take you out to celebrate overcoming such an obstacle

Julius The Dressmaker

He's typically a more goofy guy, so he gets kind of awkward in emotional situations

He will still care for you of course, but it will be slightly unconventional

"Hey dummy, there's nothing to panic about"

"Come on, take your meds and be done with it"

He'll likely end up taking you to one of the more mental health practiced doctors of the manor, so you won't get to see Jack, sorry pookies

You will however, get to see Dr. Smiley! (He isn't allowed to do any physical medical practices because he's stupid, so he's a psychologist now. Yes i did just make this up right now, why do you ask?)

Julius will kind of just...drop you off there and hope for the best

Surprisingly enough, Smiley is in fact qualified for his job and does help you out quite a lot!

You are still kind of upset, but it's definetly way better than before

Julius will comment about how much he "missed the happy you" before insisting that he cuddle with you for hours

Just to be sure you're 100% ok

Bloody Painter

Being a very quiet and observant person, Helen likely noticed something was wrong before you even did

So he was on top of it instantly, instructing you to drink water, breathe, and practice coping skills

He stays glued to you the entire time

While you pour yourself water from the pitcher, he is holding you from behind and pressing kisses to the crook of your neck

While you are breathing, he helps you count the seconds that pass

And to try to distract you from your oncoming panic, he will bring you to his studio and let you paint

And if you don't want to paint, he sets up some of his "failed projects" outside and let's you go ham on them

Awww your own personal rage room <333

Of course, it's nothing like a fancy tv, but you do get to stab some canvases and shatter some pottery so it's still fun

While you do this, he kind of just stands back, his hands on his hips with an observant expression on his face

When he is certain you are calm, he will gently take your hand and hold it high up while muttering how good you did and pressing a kiss to your head

[formulanni]

Hi! Hope you're doing well!

So. On the note of Tyler Seguin. Tyler Seguin, current stars Center and Alternate to Captain Jamie Benn, is known a little bit as a sort of a reformed party boy, who has (had?) fun night outs and such, and immensely talented and skilled. Dallas Stars, now, but first, a little context.

He played for three, two? seasons with the Boston bruins right after he was drafted 2nd overall in 2010. who were a terrible cesspool at the time, around the 2010s seasons, and was generally treated. Not well.

The coach had his own issues, an old school "tough love" kind in the wrong way, (ahem, julien).

Seguin was a healthy scratch, in the first two playoffs of that 10-11 season, and he had scored goals and points in his first career playoff game, and they won the Stanley cup. (He contributed to immensely to it.) Amidst all this glory and insane stuff, and his Swiss league achievements and hat tricks during the lockout, was a shit ton of drama.

There was a lot of inter team below the surface conflict, while the media was basically left to rip into Seguin for without team support, talk about guarding his room, buddy systems, so he didn't go out and had wild nights, a way overblown reputation and criticism. Including from fellow teammates.

Before he got traded, rumours about his "hard party lifestyle" being the reason went around, and Gm Chiarelli (paraphrasing to shorten) said "it's about the focus, little things, play prep, not a strictly on ice decision but not about extracurricular" (massive side eye.) he took a lot of media heat for the playoffs loss in the 12-13 season.

Oh and apparently a last straw was when he missed a mandatory team breakfast because of a wrong alarm, He was a healthy scratch off the roster for the game that day.

The best thing to happen to him was him leaving the Bruins. He joined the stars, a far more supportive team, and formed a close friendship with Jamie Benn, stars captain. His production and consistent rise helped clinch the stars a playoff spot, in eighth, for the first time since 2008.

You should watch their videos with Dude Perfect, those are fun! But anyways, Tyler Seguin may be fun loving, but he is so so intensely hockey minded, and the Dallas stars was truly a much better, more supportive team to him that could give him the space to grow as both player, playmaker and person. He is currently unfortunately out on a rough IR, hip injury. He's just, so good. Leading and cheer and all that.

Point is, I love him <3, and I would adore seeing him in your art!!! I've been a long time fan of yours and it's so good to see u locked into nhl. it would be so very lovely! I'm adding some pictures below. Thank you for entertaining such a long drop, and there's so much more to him, but these are the basics. I'm feeling hype cuz the stars won today's game.

- atlas / @tynedtime

This is so LONG LMAO but perfect…. Yes I’m moved. I will be reading his Wikipedia page before bed and adding him to my list… perhaps even searching his name on TikTok mhm mhmmmmmm

Ppl should do this more often.. lore drop in the box guys add more pookies to my roster I have nothing to draw but non f1 ppl until March feed me

[porcelainebambi]

Yappery

This was originally meant to be me talking about some reblogged photos being a lot like younger Lilith but my brain spewed all over the keyboard. SO I deleted the first one cause it made no sense to keep as a reblog to me. Just didn't look right.

Don't mind me y'all I'm just yapping because I have an hour before work. Don't expect any of this to make sense meow.

This is Lilith before she got traumatized crazy style she used to be a little pookie pie. Her nickname is Apple and has been for a pretty long time I just never mention it cause it's not important. My little girl failure America girl who isn't even American she was always meant to be like Chinese-Latino and occasionally European-ish if it fit the story I was working on. She's my honey honey and I am not going to shut the fuck up about her when I get off work because then my spring break begins.

Before she became an adult woman whore she was very cute girl in little dresses with ribbons in her braids and playing with roadkill. She still is that same girl just a little less childish because now she's adult and adults trying hard to be naive cute little girl has always kinda annoyed me. Like girl what you're 28.

I like her parents because they're normal good people (I am lying) up just dead now. Or in jail maybe who knows all that needs to be said is for a long time she was alone wandering around in her little cowboy boots and trying to eat roadkill. Could definitely yap about my Dollieverse bailey and the weird relationship those two had and their weird terrible little conversations they had but he's so far removed from canon while also still being him.

Everything I make is an au that exists strictly in the Texas Dollieverse because I don't like stepping in the way of other people's stories who have been into Dol longer than I have. Feels disrespectful even if anyone can do whatever they want with these characters. I like to keep it nice and organized and sectioned apart with little bridges in between.

Two kids fucked up in the head wandering down big empty roads to seek out dead armadillos to touch and melting asphalt getting stuck to their feet. One of my favorite childhood memories right there. Me and my siblings used to wander up and down the roads forever barefoot and getting that black gunk all over our feet. Our mom would make us sit on the edge of the tub washing our feet off in hot water but we would keep doing it anyway.

Walking along railroad tracks and taking big metal nails to sell at the scrapyard, living in shitty trailer parks, almost being shot by people, hiding in the doghouse to kiss, the amount of pit bulls owned. I love pit bulls so much fuck anyone who talks bad on them I hope you get food poisoning. Sweetest dos I've ever owned were pit bulls meanest one was a cat who thought he was a dog. Fuck that evil cat Toby he was one of the most aggressive animals I ever met bro was like that since birth. Genuinely just an evil animal who wanted everyone dead.

I love the lore behind their relationship and the fact that Lilith would be a romanceable character, but it is insanely hard to do and would take like one in game year to actually get anywhere unless you're like,,,an adult man or woman which many PCs and others are not. Her special trait would be memory because she loses majority of it every time she dies. Better make yourself a very important person in her life or have a ton of photos if you want her to remember you. If she likes you enough she'll obsessively study you and make a binder full of information so she never forgets you.

She has a surprisingly normal relationship to her fellow teachers because her day job still is being an art teacher at the local highschool. I think they'd view her decently normal too despite being aware that she's been alive a long time and has stopped aging. It's like what can you really do about it this town is crazy. She wants Doren so bad she needs him or she'll actually disintegrate and he has occasionally given into her patheticness because she is a real adult unlike many

Angel can now have both her favorite teachers in one place and she turns into screeching static when they kiss. Then Lilith sings songs and grooms Angel's wings and makes Doren explain random plays to her as background noise in a very affectionate way. Lilith loves them both very much and I should add that to my art list of things to draw of them.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Got sick again, world is falling apart, anyway have some fic -Danny Words: 1,900 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

XLIII: Hey, Pookie... What?

"You're lost."

"Am not!"

Ara raises her voice so they hear her from the back. "There is no shame in getting confused, G-Man, even I can't see the way around here..."

Grover stops at a bifurcation. "Well?" Meg demands, causing him to give a start and step away from her. Satyrs tend to be that way with children and gods of the wild, they put them on pedestals and fear them over everything else.

"I—I'm pretty sure Palm Springs is that way."

"Pretty sure?" Meg presses. "Like last time, when we walked into a bathroom and surprised a Cyclops on the toilet?"

"That wasn't my fault! Besides, this direction smells right. Like... cacti."

Meg turns up her nose and flares her nostrils. "I don't smell cacti."

"Meg, the satyr is supposed to be our guide. We don't have much choice but to trust him," Lester says resignedly.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Grover scoffs. "Your daily reminder: I didn't ask to be magically summoned halfway across the country and wake up in a rooftop tomato patch in Indianapolis!"

"And we appreciate you being here!" Ara says from the back.

"I just didn't think we'd be wandering around down here for two days," Meg huffs. "The new moon is in—"

"Three more days, we know," Lester laments. "We have to assume Leo and the Romans can handle whatever's coming in the north. We have our own task."

"And plenty of our own fires," Grover mumbles.

"Meaning what?" Meg questions.

"Best not to talk about it here."

Ara sighs. "I hope Leo's doing fine..."

"Hasn't called, then?" Lester looks at her over his shoulder, a hint of some strange eagerness in his voice.

The girl shakes her head. "I don't know, as soon as we entered the labyrinth, it stopped. It might be that this place keeps all my blessings dormant, which would explain Grover's trouble finding our way—Could be that the buzzing goes away when I'm not using my blessings."

Lester ponders. "I wonder what triggers you..."

"Let's not find out down here," Ara glares at him. "Let me stay perfectly average until we're out."

"I'll try to get us there fast, guys," Grover says. "But the Labyrinth has a mind of its own. Last time we were here, with Percy..."

"We know you're doing your best," Lester comforts him. He's getting better after Ara's harsh scolding when he attempted to comfort her. "Let's keep going. And, while you're sniffing for cacti, if you could keep your nostrils open for breakfast—perhaps coffee and lemon-maple cronuts—that would be great."

"We haven't gone that long without food, don't pressure him," Ara says.

"We haven't eaten since yesterday," he sighs, remembering she no longer remembers the human needs he's gotten used to. "It's been too long for us."

"Oh," she frowns. "Well, I'm sure we're close anyway." 

Ara is well aware she's forgetting things, but she doesn't know that Lester is also forgetting how it felt to be a god, his commodities as a deity, and the places in Olympus. He's trying to ignore it, but every time Ara acts too godly, he gets a bitter reminder.

"Back!" Grover tackles them.

A wave of heat pulls the oxygen out of their lungs, Ara feels a brief discomfort before it all ends, and they disentangle from each other. "Wh-what was that?" Lester pants.

"That means we're getting close. We need to hurry," Grover says anxiously.

"Like I've been saying," Meg complains. "Now get off."

Ara scowls at the hallway, the gust of wind felt almost alive and she's pretty sure that it was talking, carrying emotions that she perceived for a half second just before it went away. Something is hiding in the labyrinth.

"We'll have to go left," Grover announces.

"Um, left is the direction from which the fire came." Lester points out.

"It's also the quickest way."

"How about backwards?" Meg nudges Ara reluctantly.

"Guys, we're close, I can feel it! But we've wandered into his part of the maze. If we don't hurry—"

Screee! SCREEE! 

Ara draws out Almighty. "Listen to the satyr."

The group hurries down the pathway listening to the feral noises coming from behind. Ara gets a hundred reminders of all the creatures that could be chasing them, and she feels her skin tingle with power. She clears her mind, fearing her own energy and not wanting to make use of it if she can help it.

"There!" Grover reaches a circular chamber and points at the ramp ahead. "We gotta move up!"

"Then move up!" Ara urges him.

SCREEE!

"No, we won't make it," Lester looks back with terror. "We need to block this corridor."

"But—"

"Magic plant stuff! Hurry!" He instructs Meg. "Ara, if those things get any closer we won't be able to fight them!"

She hesitates. "What are they?"

Lester hits his forehead. "I can't remember! Some kind of birds—but they're bad, like, worse than ostriches."

Grover and Meg get the seeds growing, creating sturdy and thick tomato plants. The hall is almost entirely closed up, but one of the creatures manages to fly through and elevates above their heads screeching in anger. Lester hisses and touches his cheek, drops of blood staining his fingers.

The bird lands high and watches them as if waiting for their next move. Ara doesn't like it when creatures have sentient behaviours, and birds tend to be quite vicious either way. Lester crumbles suddenly, eyes losing focus and paling at an alarming speed.

"What the—" Ara catches him. "Lester!"

"Strix," he mumbles. "That thing is a Strix."

"How do we kill it?" Meg demands.

"Well, killing it could be a problem..."

Ara growls. "Is every monster protected under federal law nowadays?"

"Guys, we've got six or seven more trying to get in. These tomatoes aren't going to hold them!" Grover squeaks.

"K-killing the bird will curse you..."

Ara lets out a string of swear words in ancient Greek and then some more in Italian, just to finish up with a single Spanish bad word that sounded quite ugly when Leo used it. "I'm already cursed!"

"And if we don't kill it?" Meg asks.

"Oh, then it will d-disembowel you, drink your blood and eat your flesh—Also, don't let a Strix scratch you. It'll paralyse you!"

Ara grumbles, keeping him upright. "Why the Hades are you laughing?"

"Shock, most likely," Lester says, right before his head falls forward and he stops being able to speak.

Ara glows red, carrying Lester over her shoulder. "Up! Both of you!"

Meg looks at the single Strix above them. "What about that one?"

"Stop!" Grover talks to it. "We come in peace!"

The bird flies down sharply and Grover yelps, ducking just in time.  

"SCREE!"

"What do you mean 'you need to kill us'?"

"You can talk to it?" Meg huffs.

"Well, yes, it's an animal."

"Why didn't you tell us what it was saying before now?"

"Because it was just yelling scree! Now it's saying scree as in, it needs to kill us."

"If you can speed up the conversation I would appreciate it, Lester is pulling none of his weight—though that's nothing new," Ara pants, to which Lester replies with a throaty groan.

"Scree!" Grover says.

Ara's buzzing increases in the back of her mind and she struggles to ignore it, if she faints or heats up, they'll be left with two bodies to carry. "Meg, Octo—now," she turns so the girl can open her plushie bag.

Meg rummages swiftly. "Ambrosia, nectar, gauzes, band-aids—water bombs, sonic bombs, snack bombs—"

"The Strix says he's been sent to drink our blood, eat our flesh and disembowel us, not necessarily in that order. He says he's sorry, but it's a direct command from the emperor."

"Stupid emperors," Meg mutters, voicing Ara's exact thoughts. "Which one?"

"I don't know—The strix just calls him Scree."

"You can translate disembowel, but you can't translate the emperor's name?"

"It's the last one, it has to be," Ara balances Lester on her shoulder. "The western creep."

The Strix flies directly at Meg and she dodges it tackling Ara, causing the bird to crash against the brick wall and creating a gold dust explosion. "Meg!" Lester says hoarsely, the venom dissipating a little bit. "I told you not to kill it! You'll get cursed!"

"I didn't kill it. It committed suicide against that wall."

"I don't think the Fates will see it that way."

"They will if we do," Ara decides. "Now move!" She carries Lester once more, though he's gaining feeling in his arms now, so she hands him Almighty. "If you drop her I'll drop you."

"Fair enough."

"But what do we do with the ones coming?" Grover says as they hurry up the ramp.

"My snack bombs!" Ara pipes in. "Meg, they're corn!"

"Got it!" The girl pulls out one from the plushie bag.

Ara picks the bomb apart and holds one side, pouring the seeds into Grover and Meg's hands. "Let's make a maze within the maze!"

"They might not grow much," Meg warns her. "Only so much we can do without soil and sunlight."

Grover looks at Ara with a sort of helpless grimace. "We're nearly home. If we can just get to the top before the strixes get through—"

"We won't be fast enough," Ara says, stopping and dropping Lester beside her. "The plants will grow how we need them to. Drop them."

"But—"

"Now!" She demands when the beaks and talons start to rip through the tomatoes.

Meg and Grover toss the seeds, then Ara glows golden and clutches the satyr's shoulder, feeling her stomach tighten as she opens her mouth and together they scream, sending a wave of panic down the tunnel and causing the seeds to light up and burst into tall corn plants with Meg's help.

The young girl covers her ears, curling up against Lester, who presses his back against the wall and looks at the duo wide-eyed and terrified. The noises stop, and the birds start to sound further and further, as if retreating. "Guys," Lester says shakily. "Did you just summon Panic?"

"I didn't mean to," Grover glances at Ara in shock. "Haven't done that in years. You had never done that."

"P-panic?" Meg asks. "What do you mean?"

"The cry of the lost god Pan," Lester explains in disbelief, "I've never heard anyone but Pan use that power... How?"

Grover looks at her, waiting for an explanation. Ara gives it ruefully. "When we first visited the labyrinth, we found Pan. He gave me the lost chapter of Lily's book, the Children of Olympus one. When Georgie said I had..." She stops, her voice failing. 

Grover connects the dots. "He blessed all of us that day... that means you..."

"He was my first blessing," she confesses with a shaky voice, "and no one knew about it. I myself forgot I had it. When I became a daughter of Olympus, we miscounted my blessings."

Meg stares at her blankly. "So? It's good that you have another blessing, right? You have an advantage in nature like me."

"Meg, Hercules got too dangerous at eight blessings, Achilles died at five and he was a killing machine," Lester explains, looking at the older girl as if suddenly everything is making sense. "Ara has ten."

"Hephaestus gave me pantodýnamos," she says numbly, "so Pan could identify me, hand out the chapter, and implant the idea in my head..."

"That's crazy," Grover says, though he seems more shocked that Pan would participate in the schemes of the Olympians than of Ara's account. "So it wasn't just Apollo, all of them did their part to turn you into... this?"

Ara makes a face. "Zeus didn't know about Pan, or he would've mentioned it so I kept it in mind when asking for blessings... Pan said 'You have been waiting for me' as if he were serving me..."

The buzzing increases, and Ara presses her hands over her ears struggling to keep her eyes open and not slip out of consciousness... or slip into a higher state of it. 

The screeching comes back and Lester shakily gets to his feet, nudging them forward. "We have to get out of here—Sunlight," he says, remembering more about the Stixes, "they can't stand it."

Ara picks up Almighty and looks at it with less love than usual, putting it away in compass mode.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Hi! Kind of random, but I'm having trouble picturing something in one of your fics. I have read this fic multiple times (it's sooo good) and I cannot wrap my brain around it, either bc I'm a loser virgin or bc I'm an idiot 😭

It's in "Easy Money" where you say "He forces me to my side, turning me onto my stomach and hiking my ankles onto his shoulders." I feel like such a cringefail loser not being able to picture that LMAO

im also a little lost on the part where you say "[...] I throw my leg onto the back on the couch, giving him better access to fuck me."

If you're not able to explain it further that's totally fine lol. I'll just visualize it differently whenever I go back to read it. Either way, love your writing!

OKAY class, let's do some ~visualization ~ for 'Easy Money.'

Okay, so position number one:

So you're straddling Derek's lap, right? Now what he's gonna do is place his hands on your waist and he's gonna reposition (read: borderline body slam) you from straddling his lap to now laying flat on your side on the couch very quickly, basically like some wrestling shit. Motherfucker is manhandling. This is not gentle. Go from sitting, to side laying, like THAT. Now he's gonna turn you from laying on your side to laying flat on your stomach, (again, manhandling <3) so basically now you're in doggy style but you're laying down instead of on your knees. Now this is already fun and dandy, but what you're gonna imagine is Derek now grabbing your ankles and yanking them fuckers up, placing them on top of his phat ass shoulders while he fucks you from behind. So. Basically, your body is now contorted like a wheelbarrow. Kinda. Which may sound strange, but I promise you, you gotta try it some time. You'll go braindead.

Position number two! (Technically one since it happens in the story first, but-) :

So what that one is is you've got two people, Person A (Derek) sitting on the couch, dong out and actively penetrating Person B (you, pookie <3). Again, awesome, wow. But if you like some deep, gut fucking, uterus migraine inducing, you're questioning if you have to take a shit or if something has ruptured type jackhammering dick downing going on in your pooni, what you're now gonna do is while still straddling Derek, you're gonna take one of your legs and reposition it so that the foot of that leg is now resting of the backrest of the couch, spread eagle basically. So just a recap. You're bouncing on your knees, you move one leg (stay on one knee) to plant on the back of the couch, so you're basically keeping the shop open while he is just DOGGIN your shit, it's gonna HURT when you get off that climax high. But if he knows what he's doing, it's worth it! (Get ibuprofen on hand before you try this.)

Anyways, I hope this helped! And incase you're now sitting here, the positions clarified, thinking "Jesus Dani, who would willingly do this?"

Me.

Don't look surprised, I wrote the fucken donut fic. I have done so much worse sex wise. Just get a good partner and you're golden 🤌

Thanks for asking!! See y'all next time on America's favorite gameshow "Jesus Christ, Dani, what the fuck" the show where you degenerates keep cumming back! 💗

Visual reference for those who need it :)

[greensagephase]

I love this! So much. I've had a thought ruminating & I think this Miguel might have an interesting response. It occurred to me recently that 'you should never say yes to a man until you know that he can take a no & respect it.' I imagine that if you tried to explain that concept to Miguel, it'd break his heart in a way, but also probably fill him with righteous anger.

Maybe he sees some guy not respect your 'no,' and Miguel apologizes that that guy was so awful. But, you explain that it's a blessing because now you know before it's dangerous that he doesn't accept a 'no.'

But this is just my own brain rot that I'm trying to pass along to you 😂

Hiii, pookie!! Thank you so much for the ask!! 🥰

I also want to say I’M SORRY for taking so long to answer it! 😭 I promise I’m usually better about this, but after writing so much the weekend before and then getting hit with that time of the month, I just needed a little time off tumblr.

Anyway, I love this Miguel! I’m still thinking about him 🥺 and you’re absolutely right, Miguel would be so heartbroken to hear you say that, but on top of that, filled with so much righteous anger as you’ve stated. It's not like Miguel doesn’t know some men are like this, but it just breaks and angers him that you must think this way for your own safety when interacting with men.

And omg, the way I see him apologizing for another man's behavior, even though he hasn’t done anything wrong, but he’s a GENTLEMAN!! 🥹 I think, even though he’s not that type of man, he would be extra careful after learning of this concept with you. He’d ask if it’s okay to touch, kiss, or do other things when you're intimate to make sure you’re onboard and don’t feel pressured into doing something you don’t want to. He'd be an extra gentleman and ensure that he's respecting your boundaries at all times because he wants to make sure you feel safe with him, always.

Thank you so much for the ask, pookie, and thank you for your amazing support as a new reader!! It means so much to me!! 🥺💕💖 I hope you have a wonderful day/night!!

Alondra❤️

p.s. sharing the brain rot over this man is always welcomed on this blog, so feel free to share it!! 🤣💕

[memoriesndew]

day 23/90 || 25/09/2024 || dews weight loss lock in ♬ 

🍵logging in... do be do ba and she's back its been a while, my loves I haven't updated in some time and I truly apologize but I got caught up in the crossfire of emotion, feeling lost and our cooking competition that took place on Sunday (it was ok btw) @bambiauroraa has inspired and motivated me to post today so here I am hiii

🎧 now playing : give me oil by joe mettle ft sandra boakye-duah

🎀 currently : 🧶 crafty ; complete new tutorial vid and 🔖 reading ; disrespectfully yours, marinette dupain-cheng ch 2

reflection:

✿ hnmm what was today even, it was ok but could've been better frl also wow. anyway, today was ok I started not so well but then it hit me hey temi what about your routine I fully got up by 9am and started on my day even though I woke up by 6:29 am. I'm still playing with my morning routine trying to see here and there and what I can change but the one I have now. I'll keep to it for a few weeks and see the same for my night routine.

achievements:

i'm sure you're wondering with all her yapping what did Pookie actually achieve today? well here it is

I cleared my personal email

also worked out (I got my period today, I just pray I'll be able to workout tomorrow - remember to listen to your body people)

updated my notion (haven't done that in a while)

practiced a new stitch

swept my room

did Bible study

actually complicated my morning routine (by 3pm 🥲- a win is a win frl)

worked out for 28 mins yh minus the walk

did a 5 mins meditation + stretch

most importantly - i posted my first youtube video ya - here it is

walked for 34 mins

today's workout :

5 MIN STANDING TOTAL ABS WORKOUT l HIIT TOTAL BODY QUICK & EFFECTIVE WEIGHT LOSS/ Shilryn

10 MIN FULL BODY HIIT WORKOUT ll K-Beauty Body Shape l Weight Loss At Home / Burn lots of Calories

At Home Pilates Workout l Slim Waist & Weight Loss l Korean Hourglass Workout l Slim Body Challenge

meals :

brunch

╰・6 slices of toast and powdered milk

snacks

╰・2 slices of toast

dinner

╰・non (dinner was made past 8 and i really needed to keep with my habits today) - ate peanuts and bread later on by like 12 am

habit tracking:

maintain calorie deficit of 1,080/1200 hit 10k steps - 3,388 7+ hrs of sleep 2.25L/2L of water 30mins+ of movement journal progress movement cycle [3/3] eat between 12 pm and 8 pm 6/8 = slay

💌notes: I think I'm starting to find my passion for writing again, (the adrinette fic has motivated me) BCS hey don't I literally want to be a journalist so I'll add that onto my learning goals I'll really try to learn about if fully. also hope you have a wonderful day

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

photo credits: pinterest and tumblr

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

Okay hiii just ignore me if you want-

ZEEP ZEEP ZEEP IMAGINE WITH ME

LEO AND USAGI WITH THEIR KID RIGHT?

IN THIS INSTANCE THIS CHILD IS ADOPTED, EITHER WHEN THEY WERE YOUNGER OR WHEN THEY WERE A TEEN IMMA IMAGINE BOTH FOR YA

CHILD GETTIN’ A GO FIRST

JUST JUST IMAGINE

This tiny child meeting these two big men, this tiny little child who’s life has been unstable and unpredictable is faced with the prospect of adoption, the promise that they’ll finally be in a home

Of course, before the adoption is complete and finalised, there is that uncertainty about “what if it doesn’t go through or get approved?” And the Fruitbowl Dads™️ can’t always be there all the time, but whenever they DO get a chance, and I mean EVERY SINGLE CHANCE, they’re reminding You that they already love them, and being so young it’s hard to not follow every glimmer of hope that peaks through. It’s just so exciting and scary at the same time. Their own room?! Forever?! Well just faint now.

Making this tiny rascal laugh so hard at Dad Jokes, it’s such a good thing to laugh. Two huge strong dads who are going to be the strongest support this tiny little one has ever seen. Gettin’ carried? A must, imagine all the things you could see from up there! It’s the world! Free for You to explore.

Getting adopted?! The process being finished?! The cheering and hugs? Immediately getting pizza (or some other food of choice) right after? Movie night? It’s such a warm welcome to Your Official Home.

THE TEEN? THE TEEN!

Oh poor child, passed through care home to foster home back into the system, back and forth to and fro, when will it end? Well the Fruitbowl Dads™️ are here to help!

It genuinely surprises You, the prospect of adoption. You had just assumed it would never happen, I mean? A teen? Don’t be ridiculous, it’s completely out the question. Couldn’t help but overhear people debating if it was worth the trouble for someone who’d move out in a few years anyway, and it’s hard not to assume this is all one big dream, and you’ll wake up soon. But every time You pinch Your cheeks, close Your eyes, half wanting to wake up, You never do, opening Your eyes to see two kindhearted individuals in front of You, ready for a huge hug.

After the gruelling process of adoption is complete, You can finally lay in bed and officially say You’re home. I mean, sure, You have been fostered here for a while, but it just feels so much more real and yet surreal at the same time. Cuddle piles are a NECESSITY for this, or maybe not at first, You had learned that getting close to people makes it harder to say goodbye, but now? Now you don’t *have* to say goodbye, now you can bury Your face in incense smelling fur, or bury Yourself into a plastron and not worry about it slipping through Your fingers. It’s here, and it’s staying.

Dad’s are probably gonna have to work with Ya on unlearning bad coping mechanisms, teaching You they don’t have to cry alone, it’s alright, having a rock hard shell is helpful sure, but not all the time. It’s gonna be tough, but who said parenting is easy?

No no, wait- wait. I-i just-- hrrrmmmmmmgn, hold ON- holding on. I, I cannot-- you just-

You just did-

How did you-?

I, I, ueue- ueueueeee.

^^^ my live reaction when reading this.

SHAWTYYYYYYY??? JELLY. MY JELLY BABY. MY FUDGIN' CINNAMON APPLE.

The way you WROTE THIS OUTTTTTTT. I am ROLLING AROUND IN MY BED (¦ꒉ[▓▓] IN LIKENESS TO A GLEEFUL SLUG 🪇🪇🪇🐛🪱🐛🪱🐛 THE WAY YOU JUST.... GRRAAAAAAAAHHHH GRABS YOU AND SHAKES YOU AND HOLDS YOUR HAND AND AND!!!! YOU!!!! YOU'RE JUST SO!!! ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)♡ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)♡ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)♡

I literally. Wanted to cry while reading this through. That's how good it is. Slash very complimentary. ✨Extremely✨ complimentary, if you will.

Seriously pookie, I couldn't have said it BETTER??? You're undeniably one of my favorite writers on this site. The way you completely understood what I was going for & added to make it even ✨🪽BETTER✨🪽

like it's so good it's making me run my deadlifts:

🎱➖✊➖➖✊➖🎱

🌟 \ / 🌟

⭐ \😁/ ⭐

✨ 🎽 ✨

/ \

👟 👟

Look at the stars!! Look at the sparkles!! That is the exudes of my OVERFLOWING JOY AND HAPPY STIMS!!!! 💞⭐🌟🌸✨💫🌷🌈☀🌻☁🩷

I was already in love with the child imagine but then I read the TEENAGE SECTION AND bro. I don't think I can live without this anymore, actually.

Rests hand on your shoulder and gazes deeply into your eyes. (/plat) I don't think I can live without you, actually.

Lemme tell you the things I loved:

All of it. 🌈🌸🩷

............nah nah but fr, lemme appreciate you in full rq-

the way you explicitly mentioned the foster/adoption homes, system, and process and tied it in very smoothly with the plotline!! - I realize now that I didn't mention it much, despite the whole point legitimately being an adopted reader. so you centering it in the way you did just really did sumn to me, no lie no lie. (/vv pos!! ☀)

taking the head canons and dividing them into the aspects by age, and making it work SO SO WELL LIKE--!!!! AS A WRITER? A FELLOW WRITER??? I am frothing at the mouth very impressed!! it all just fits together like a puzzle piece and I just, graaaaahhh ( ✧Д✧) YES!!

bustin in and having the, 💥audacity💥 to say "ignore me if you want" SUCKAAAAAAAAA????

(will legit hunt u down don't ever speak such none sense, I said NONE ❗💥 SENSE 💥❗ e'er again, ya hear?)

the realness of it. like, you. ...... that's it bro, legit just you.

Now I've got even MORE brainworms and, they say, they're already formulating a part two of sorts. ૧(ꂹີωꂹີૂ) now fellas I love my goobers but-- *dogs barking, truck horns blasting, random screaming on the background*

((*now I must indulge the child!*))

[fluentmoviequoter]

Ok I have a confession lol. I sent in the request for care now and forever part 2 and care now and forever part 1 and my my you out did yourself. I didn't think it could get any better after part 1 and I'm so honored you used my 2nd request for part 2. I sent that in cause like I said I wanted more fainting comfort and honestly didn't think anything of it while I anxiously waited for part 2. Anyways lol I hope this makes sense. Just know I loved it and you're a great writer. It made me feel listened too (if that's not weird)

Love you pookie and thank you ❤️

Wait you requested both of them? I never would have guessed that haha.

Thank you so much for the kind words! I’m really glad you enjoyed both parts and part 2 served your request! Hopefully it gave you the fainting comfort you wanted. This message is super sweet and means a lot to me; thanks for sending it and letting me know what you think!🫶🏼

Definitely not weird and know I’m always here to listen! I actually had an idea today about SWAT!reader fainting while she’s with 20 Squad for a raid, so let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in reading!🤍

[daisyjonesgf]

Okay but Billy Dunne and his muse…idk if you like Olivia Rodrigo but one of her songs being “vampire” ESPECIALLY IF SHES YOUNGER THAN HIM????

“I love you truly / Gotta laugh at the stupidity” stupid because loving Billy Dunne is toxic man “‘Cause I’ve made some real big mistakes / but you make the worst one look fine” “I should’ve known it was strange / you only come out at night” he only approaches her when HE needs “bleedin’ me dry, like a goddamn vampire” “ooh, what a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked-up little thrill” “went for me, and not her / cause girls your age know better”

ALSO THE “you said it was true love, but wouldn’t that be hard? / you can’t love anyone, ‘cause that mean you had a heart / I tried to help you out, now I know that I can’t” LIKE WHEN SHE LISTENES TO HIS SONGS???

Anyway he’s hot as hell. Like hell yeah boy manipulate me, please

-🌾anon

I literally love Olivia Rodrigo so so much and literally wish I could've afforded tickets for the guts tour so badly 😭

but yes 10000% I'm pretty sure he's nearing 30 by the time the band breaks up on 1977, but meeting him when you're 19, in like 1974, and all the girls your age, in your social class, are trying out the groupie lifestyle. and one day you see the six performing at whisky a go go and he sees you watching. he's instantly attracted to you and talks to you after, offering you a cigarette, he's expecting you to go back with him like most groupies do but you don't.

"I got places to be." you laughed, taking a puff from the cigarette. "but maybe I'll see you around billy dunne. nice meeting you." and he likes you, adores that you're playing like that when realistically by the second time you're around you do go with him. suddenly he can't get enough of you and the rest is history.

okay okay sorry for the sidebar pookie, let's unpack vampire

she realized pretty early on what she'd gotten herself into, she knew he wasn't the kind of guy she could tie down, but god she'd fallen for him faster than rain. and he's the kind of guy who can go from a drizzle to a hurricane unbelievably fast. and part of her doesn't care because when he's at his best he's so adoring, loving, the times are so good and make the stumbling seemingly worth it. and she's heard the stories about how all rockstars are the same but she ignores them, ignores how he approached his first ever groupie so eagerly, always waits around for him to want her and then is thrown off when it's no longer her being the only groupie waiting for attention and she's got to wait for it, hope that he still picks her. other groupies probably know better then do get as tied up as she has, they want some of billy, but they'll take the others, but you took the first lead singer who flashed you a smile and so naively let yourself be his little girlfriend, well his girlfriend when he felt like you were.

yes, he's got so many songs about how turbulent their relationship is, how it's so close to falling apart, despite how much he loves her, how they burn for each other, with each other. and she wonders if he feels that way why he lets so much anger infest rather than the love he supposedly has. sometimes she wonders if he keeps the relationship that way to have good rock n roll content, to make it fun. so being his muse most of the time you can romanticize but when you think too hard about what that means to him it can lead to some pretty nasty thoughts and eventual blow up arguments.

literally, billy dunne please let me be your young, on and off girlfriend who can't tell if you really love her or you like that you can write good songs about her.